Clear and Present Danger
by Alma Gloriosa
Summary: What if Remus Lupin had never gone for a walk in a park in Little Whinging, and Danger Granger had moved to London to get away from her haunting dreams? What if Sirius Black had been smarter after his escape from Azkaban? AU of PoA and the Dangerverse.


A/N: Standard disclaimers, please. I didn't write it, I don't own it, and I am making no profit.

Furthermore, this is an AU of PoA. If you recognize similar events or even direct quotes, assume they are from the HP canon. This is also an AU of the Dangerverse written by whydoyouneedtoknow. If you recognize anything in this story that reminds you of the Dangerverse, it is because I am borrowing the material with permission. If you haven't read the Dangerverse, go do so immediately!

xXxXxXx

Clear and Present Danger: Chapter One

At night, the darkness was enveloping, all-encompassing darkness. The naked eye could distinguish nothing. Any lingering moonlight or starlight was simply sucked into the blackness. At night, everyone was blind. Sight was not necessary to _feel_, though, to feel the absolute cold that radiated off of the stone walls and floors and ceilings or the shivers caused by the dread from that stabbing chill. Sight was not necessary to smell the stench of rotting flesh that hung in the air, the stench of painful death. Sight was not necessary to hear the screams and the moans of the other occupants as they relived their worst memories. This place was hell on earth; it was the last stop before death for anyone who entered. It was worse than death, because no one there even wanted to be alive any longer.

This place was Azkaban prison.

And Sirius Black was moments away from his freedom. The horrible, acrid smells that had assaulted his senses for twelve years were beginning to mix with the odor of briny water, carried in on frigid winds from the North Sea. The darkness didn't seem so … dark, as his doggy eyes searched for any stray strands of light. The sounds of screams, nightmares that never ended, became less shrill and overbearing as he ran farther and farther away from the most secure part of the prison, which had housed him for over a decade.

And then, there were the doors. Great, heavy, overbearing doors like the ones that shielded the entrance to Hogwarts castle. There was no way he could open the doors as a dog, and no way he could transform into a human or the Dementors would come flocking and he would find himself bereft of a soul. And, as tempting as that thought was, he needed a soul to accomplish his goals, his whole reason for leaving.

He longed to let out a howl, as though he were romping around under the light of the full moon. As though Moony were ahead of him and Prongs just behind. Oh, Moony, no! Oh, Prongs, NO!

His mind was racing, thoughts and memories entwining as one, confusing him, teasing him, torturing him. Sirius had not managed to stay entirely sane during his time in Azkaban prison, but neither had he gone completely insane. He was hanging on a balance somewhere in between, and he needed to get _out_ of here. He pushed the dizzying thoughts to the back of his mind and bit back his howl. He must not take any chances. He must focus. There had to be another way to get out. He paced down the hallway, pushing away the iciness and hopelessness that reminded him just how close the Dementors and the end of his chance of escape were. And then … aha!

An open window. Or more likely just a window whose broken glass had never been replaced. It didn't matter; it was his opportunity for freedom. It was a _bit_ high, but he knew that if he got a running start as Padfoot, he could make it; he had to.

He trotted down the hall a sufficient length and turned to face the window again. Was his freedom really waiting just beyond that window? Was it really going to be so easy? _Of course it isn't, Sirius_, he told himself. _You have to survive a swim across the sea to the mainland, and then you have to find food and civilization. Thank Merlin it isn't winter; at least you won't freeze to death_.

He stuck his nose in the air and sniffed, searching for signs of approaching Dementors, but the dark creatures tended to stay clumped around parts of the prison that held the captives, sucking up their happiness. None of them were bothering with the front hall. No prisoners were housed there and if there were any there, they would be able to feel it. Or so they thought.

And with that, Padfoot leaned back on his haunches and launched himself towards the window. He grew closer and closer and then, as he took a great leap into the air, he knew he'd made it. He soared through the open space and knew that he had just obtained his freedom. He had made it out of Azkaban prison.

The cool, light air ensconced him as he ran towards the rocky beach and the sea, beyond which lay his only chance at permanent freedom. He was panting already from the physical exertion, or, perhaps, it was just from the excitement of his escape and the relative elation he felt from being even this far from the Dementors. He turned back and studied the hulking fortress for one last, long moment. Now was not the time for reflection. Now was the time to _get away as fast as he could_.

Plunging himself into the frigid, dark sea, Sirius again wanted to howl, but this time because of the torture of it. It felt like pins pricking into him. If he drowned now, in the middle of the North Sea, so close, so close, then at least he would know he had made it this far, farther than anyone else ever had.

But he was not going to drown. He was not going to fail. He kept swimming and swimming, and as the fortress of Azkaban slowly became like a dot on the horizon, he found a rhythm, and the cold became less stabbing.

As he swam, he thought. His mind was positively racing with his thoughts and memories, away from the influence of the Dementors. The Dementors. Oh, they were fit punishment enough for someone who had betrayed his best friends to follow the Dark Lord and killed another one of his best friends along with innocent muggles on the street. Of course that misery and that pain were appropriate. The problem was, Sirius had not committed any of those crimes.

For a long time, many years, in fact, Sirius had believed he deserved Azkaban, anyway, if not for his supposed transgressions than for his true ones. He had been stupid enough to believe that Remus was the traitor, stupid enough to believe that Peter was not. He had actually convinced James and Lily to make that traitor their secret keeper. He may not have killed the Potters with his own hands, but he might as well have, for all that his good intentions had gone horribly, terribly wrong.

And then had come the newspaper. He still wasn't entirely sure why he asked for it; possibly because he really was bored enough to want a copy of the Daily Prophet that badly, or possibly because he just wanted to see whether the Minister would actually give it to him. He liked to think it was fate stepping in, making him request the paper that would change the course of his life, which would give him something to look to other than his death.

There, on the front page, had been the rat.

Oh, he was going to kill Pettigrew, absolutely rip the little beast into shreds. And then he would take those shreds into the Ministry and show them that he had been innocent all along. Innocent until now. Perhaps they would put him back into prison, but at least he would be there for a crime he'd committed this time. Perhaps, if he were really lucky, they would decide that Azkaban had made him insane, and see that the little rat deserved no better a fate than the one he'd gotten. Though somehow Sirius didn't think that scenario was very likely.

But before he ever got to Pettigrew – after all, he would have to wait until September, when he would be back at Hogwarts posing as a pet to some Weasley – he had another goal to accomplish: check on Harry. He had never realized just how many memories of Harry the Dementors sucked away, nearly all of them, until now, as he grew farther and farther from the infernal guards. He was beginning to remember his godson with more and more clarity, was beginning to remember Hagrid with that tiny, precious boy in his arms, telling Sirius that he was taking Harry to Lily's sister, in Little Whinging. He hadn't been there for Harry's childhood, and he would forever regret that, but he was out now, and he was going to make sure the boy was all right, so to Little Whinging he would go.

He was so lost in his thoughts, with a clearness he hadn't known in so long, that he barely felt his feet brushing sand, barely noticed the second stony beach of the night or the large trees looming overhead and casting odd shadows. Barely noticed the fact that the moon was no longer in the sky and morning was probably soon in coming.

He hauled himself up onto the beach, shaking off as much of the excess water as he could. Merlin, how he wanted to lie down right here and sleep, sleep for days. But he couldn't do that; he had made it this far, and he wasn't going to get caught. This beach must be right across from the island that housed Azkaban, and no doubt someone would think to check here. It was just too much to hope that no one would, on the off chance, think to check that _maybe_ this sleeping dog just _might_ be an unregistered Animagus by the name of Sirius Black. Although, with the Ministry, one never knew.

Not willing to take any chances, he willed himself to move on and into the woods. Perhaps he would manage to find an unassuming squirrel along the way. It wasn't his first choice, but anything that would allow him to keep going for as long as he could was all right in his book. Anything that would allow him to get to Harry, and then Peter.

That thought in mind, he steeled him and picked his pace up to a quick trot, his tongue lolling out of his mouth. It did not escape his notice that, although he was exhausted, the air smelled better as he got father away from Azkaban, and he felt more alive than he had in twelve long years.

xXxXxXx

Gertrude Granger was pulled roughly from sleep. It was dark, the only light shining in through the cracks around the curtains covering the window, and for a moment she just looked around, blinking, wondering where she was. She was no stranger to waking up abruptly, though the times when she had done so regularly were long past. Still, the old familiarity of her thoughts and memories brought to mind dreams from years ago, dreams she could have recalled with astonishing accuracy, had anyone cared to ask.

Shivering lightly, though the air was almost stiflingly hot, Danger crawled out of bed and down the hall to the bathroom, treading carefully over the creaky wooden floors so as not to wake Neenie … Hermione. She had gotten used to not having her sister around, and had _not_ gotten used to calling her by her "real" name. The lights in the bathroom were harsh and unforgiving, and Danger shut her eyes again as she splashed water on her face and allowed the events of the dream to wash over her, the stanzas of verse still embedded in her mind. They really did have a nice lyric quality to them, but, of course, they still meant absolutely nothing to her. Seeing those dreams again had only reminded her of how ridiculous she'd been to ever believe they were significant. She would almost believe that she had made them up as a story in her head, except for one thing …

She now knew that magic did exist. Back when she'd first been plagued by the dreams, they had seemed more like a fantasy film than anything else, all the sick green light and what she assumed were spells coming from what she assumed were magic wands. It had been completely unreal to her. Now, to realize that all of that could actually have _happened_, it made her sick. Were there really things like that in Neenie's world, spells that could kill someone with just a few words and a flash of unnatural light? Moreover, had that really happened to Harry?

She thought back to Neenie's first year at Hogwarts, when they'd only just found out that she was a witch. Hermione had written home just after Halloween about one of her new friends, Harry Potter, who was also known as the Boy Who Lived because he had somehow survived a curse that was supposed to kill him, instead bouncing it off so that it killed the other wizard. The other wizard who had already killed his parents, so that he was sent to live with his aunt and uncle who then handed Harry off to Danger whenever she was willing to watch him, which was often. She had been fond of the dark-haired, green-eyed little boy, even if there was a deep sadness in his eyes. She sometimes regretted leaving him there, though not going to London hadn't really been an option. She and Neenie couldn't live on love alone.

Yes, she realized then. These things really _had_ happened to Harry. But why, then, was Danger dreaming about them? _How_ was she even dreaming about them?

Rubbing her eyes, she studied her reflection in the mirror. Lord, she looked terrible. The dreams always had exhausted her, she remembered now. The circles under her eyes were dark and deep, her eyelids puffy as though she'd been crying. Sighing, she flipped off the light to the bathroom and headed out to the kitchen, poking her head into Hermione's room to make sure her little sister was still asleep, and then setting about making herself a cup of tea. It would be awhile before she could fall back asleep, if she could at all. She could do with a good cup of chamomile and something to distract her from her thoughts.

Still, even as she was waiting for her water to boil, she couldn't stop the words that played through her mind. _Black to red and red to brown shall truly bring the darkness down …_

xXxXxXx

Sirius woke slowly in the middle of a dense forest. The fresh smell of trees and open air invaded his senses as trickles of sunlight caressed his eyes open. When had he fallen asleep? He must have literally fallen over from exhaustion because he couldn't remember having laid down at all. At least he was still here, in the forest, alone, which meant that no one had found him. He wondered if anyone had even realized he was gone yet.

Shifting, he realized with relief that he was still in his dog form. He sat up and stretched before standing up all the way. His body was exhausted and sore. It really didn't want any more swimming or running. It wanted to be fed and rested, but Sirius had no other options. He needed to keep moving; he had no idea how far he was from the coast. Besides, he didn't see any small animals that he would be fast enough to catch in his condition, and he wasn't about to go eating any plants that could poison him. He needed to find something akin to civilization.

After walking for what felt like hours, but really must have been no more than one or two, based on the movement of the sun, his senses began to pick up different scents – human scents – and sounds. Like the sounds of _people_. His pace, which had become increasingly slow as he moved, transformed back into a trot and he followed his nose and his ears.

Ah, and there it was! A town! With people! He trotted into town, sniffing away, trying not to seem too excited at the thought of actual, real food. There were a few people out and about, but none of them seemed inclined to give a mangy-looking dog the time of day.

Well, at least there were trash cans about. At this point, Sirius would take anything that would keep him alive and moving. He started sniffing around the trash and found one that promised something remotely fresh. After successfully knocking it over, he tore into the first bag that fell out and was rewarded with some old chips, a barely-eaten piece of tart, eggs scraps, and two whole, untouched sausages. Just as he was about to dig into his second sausage, however, a shrill voice invaded his feast.

"Ach! Shoo! Get away from there you filthy mongrel!"

Sirius started and took a couple steps back away from the food when he spotted a dowdy, older woman who had come out of the house with a muggle broomstick in her hands. She looked quite menacing, and he didn't need to get mixed up in anything. He was about to turn and run away when a man appeared behind her in the doorway. He had a much kinder face than the woman, whom Sirius supposed was his wife, and he studied the dog with a smile.

"Poor mutt, don't look like he's had a good meal in days." Sirius whimpered at being called a mutt, though the man shot him a sympathetic look that clearly said he thought the dog was starving. "We can spare him something."

Sirius was delighted to be invited up onto the porch where the man stooped over to greet him, the woman having gone inside with the instruction "to get the rest of that loaf of bread." He hungrily ate the large stub of bread, which was still fairly fresh and tasted better than anything out of the trash. The man seemed to sense that he was still very hungry, and out of pity made his wife give Sirius their leftover Shepherd's pie. Sirius thought he was in heaven.

"No identification, so you must be just a stray," the man said. "Don't suppose you'd want to stay here and keep me company, would you, boy?"

Sirius was silent for a long moment, but then he whimpered and looked out to the street. He would love to stay, yes, of course he would, if he was to be fed soft, crusty bread and savory Shepherd's pie every day. But he hadn't risked his life and his soul by escaping from Azkaban for nothing. He had things he had to do, things to set right. He couldn't stay here even for the promise of good, regular meals.

"Ah, didn't think so," the man replied. "You don't look like you could belong to nobody. Just make sure you find yourself a good meal now and then."

Sirius listened to the man's instructions, then gave his hands a couple good licks in gratitude before bounding back down the porch and onto the street. Now, it was time to figure out just where he was and how he was going to make it all the way down to Surrey. He didn't fancy walking all the way there (and wasn't sure that he could find it on his own, anyway) but he didn't see how he had much of a choice.

And so he began off out of town, finding signs that pointed the way to Edinburgh. Either way, that had to be further south than where he was now and so he set off. But he was tired, and the few hours of sleep he'd gotten in the woods along with the meal hadn't been enough to fully revive him. When he became weary of walking, he managed to jump up on the back of an open lorry, and there he fell into a deep sleep, filled with fitful dreams of James, Remus and Peter, and what his godson was going to look like now that he was nearly thirteen.

xXxXxXx

Harry Potter was having the worst birthday of his life, and for him, this was really saying something, as he couldn't really remember a good birthday. Well, he supposed his eleventh birthday hadn't been bad, with Hagrid showing up at their hut in the sea, announcing that Harry was a wizard, and whisking him away to introduce him to the wizarding world, or at least Diagon Alley. But then he'd been so swept up in the shock and the many surprises that the day brought, he hadn't had the time to really enjoy it.

But still, this birthday was worse than all the ones where he'd been given Dudley's broken toys and outgrown clothes as presents, and the one the previous year when he'd managed to ruin a business deal for Uncle Vernon with the help of a house elf who told him he couldn't go back to Hogwarts because his life was in danger. This year, _Aunt Marge_ was here to visit. He was fairly certain that this visit had been planned strategically by the Dursleys, as punishment for the fact that he gotten to go off to a school he actually _enjoyed_. It was a crime in their minds that he could enjoy anything, and so he got Aunt Marge for his birthday, and the only thing he could do was grin and bear it.

From the moment she had gotten there, it had been all complaints. Boy, take my luggage up to my room! Boy, where are you? Hang up my coat! Boy, stop looking at me like that, it's rude to stare! Boy, look me in the eye, or have you got something to hide? Going to that horrible school for criminals, you probably do. Boy, fetch me a cup of tea, and make sure you add plenty of milk and sugar! Boy, this tea is far too sweet! Boy, this tea is too cold! Boy, this tea is scalding hot!

He wanted to let it all go and scream at her until his throat was hoarse, but years of living with his relatives had trained him far better than that. Mouthing off only earned him punishments that he certainly didn't enjoy. Besides, this year, Uncle Vernon had promised that if he made it through the visit with no hitches, he would not only sign the permission form for Hogsmeade, but he would give Harry free range of his schoolbooks for the rest of the summer, provided that nothing "funny" happened.

Looking back, Harry should have known that a visit from Aunt Marge couldn't have possibly gone through with no mishaps.

In truth, he did a very good of keeping his protests back and doing everything that Aunt Marge asked, even bringing her five cups of tea until it was finally to her liking. It wasn't until dinner was over and Harry was serving Brandy to the adults that the problems started; Aunt Marge decided to begin in on one of her favorite complaints about Harry: his parents.

Everything else, Harry could take. He could listen to her call him insane and a criminal, good for nothing, ugly and stupid, and manage to hold back his rage. But insulting his parents was another matter all together. It wasn't as though she hadn't done it in the past, except that Harry had never had any ammunition with which to refute all the terrible things she said. In fact, for all he had known, they were _true_.

But now, now he knew that they were anything but true. His parents were heroes, in every sense of the word. With the exception of Snape, everyone Harry had met seemed to have loved his parents. James and Lily had been Head Boy and Girl of Hogwarts in their day, and it was obvious from the photograph album Hagrid had given him that they had loved each other dearly. To sit there and have to listen to Aunt Marge rage on about how they'd been alcoholic, deadbeat parents wasn't just hard.

It was unacceptable.

"My parents," he spat out as Marge ranted on and on, barely stopping to take large gulps of her brandy, "were _not_ drunks."

"Boy! More brandy!" Uncle Vernon bellowed, obviously smarter than Harry had given him credit for as he was able to spot the trouble coming.

"No, no, Vernon," Marge insisted. "I'd love to hear what the _boy_ has to say." She turned to Harry. "Proud of your parents, are you, boy? Proud of them for killing themselves by driving drunk so you had to be foisted off on my poor brother and his decent, hard-working family?"

Harry felt the rage boiling up inside as Marge spoke, his hands clenching into fists as he did everything he possibly could to hold back his rage. It wasn't working, he realized. Aunt Marge was getting … fat.

Well, fatter. In fact, she was becoming alarmingly large. Harry's eyes widened as Aunt Marge bubbled and ballooned out, the seams on her clothing her bulging and then tearing as she lifted out of her seat, floating slowly towards the ceiling. Aunt Petunia was screaming by this time, Dudley just watching with horrified eyes, and Uncle Vernon jumped out of his seat, trying to help his sister, pull her back to the floor, _something_.

Harry knew there was nothing he could do. He wondered what would happen to her, if she would keep expanding until she exploded, or if she would float up and into oblivion. He didn't know; he couldn't bring himself to truly care, because he had just used _magic_. And as the Ministry thought he'd already used magic outside of Hogwarts once, he had used his chance. He was going to be expelled!

Well, there was no way he was going to sit there and wait for the owl that was soon to come. Instead, even as the Dursleys continued to panic and Aunt Marge continued to float on the ceiling, he ran for the cupboard under the stairs. It burst open as he reached it and he plunged inside, hauling out his trunk, which held everything except the books and things he had stashed under the loose floorboards in his bedroom. After retrieving everything and stuffing it in as quickly as possibly, Harry wrenched open the front door and was just about to step out when a hand latched onto his upper arm and pulled him back.

"Where do you think you're going?" Uncle Vernon raged, his face a livid purple. "You come back in here and put her right!"

Not thinking, Harry pulled his wand out of his pocket and stuck it in his uncle's face. "She deserved what she got!" he sneered. "And I'm not going to stay here and take this!"

And with that, he wrenched his arm out of Uncle Vernon's grasp and bolted out the door, pulling his heavy trunk behind him. He dragged it along with him, away, away from Privet Drive, from his horrible relatives and whatever dismal future was waiting for him now that he was going to be expelled from Hogwarts.

He had no idea how far he'd walked or how many circles he had gone in when he finally stopped in front of a park that Dudley and his gang of friends liked to frequent, tormenting the younger children of the neighborhood. He let his trunk rest on the sidewalk and sat down on it, leaning down over his knees with his head in his hands. What was he going to do? What in Merlin's name was he going to do now?

He might have thought about it, except that, at that very moment, a pair of bright, gleaming eyes hidden in the bushes of the park caught his own, and, without thinking about the fact that he was in the middle of a muggle neighborhood at what must have been very late at night (he _must_ have been walking for a very long time), he jumped up from his trunk, pulled his wand out, and pointed it at the eyes.

Those eyes, however, didn't look away. They didn't even blink. In fact, they almost … studied him, in a contemplative way. Harry slowly began backing away, one step, then another, and then –

He toppled backwards over his trunk, arms flailing, having forgotten it was there. He looked up, feeling panicked, and saw the blurry outline of a large, furry creature, possibly a dog, possibly something worse. He might have yelled, he might have even tried a spell, having already been expelled, he was sure, but the sound of a very large vehicle coming to a very halting stop very directly behind him caused him to jump to his feet and spin around.

He came face to face with a very … magical looking man, standing on the back of a very large, very purple bus, which Little Whinging had surely never seen the likes of before.

"Welcome to the Knight Bus, emergency transport for the stranded witch or wizard. Just stick out your wand hand, step on board, and we can take you anywhere you want to go. My name is Stan Shurnpike, and I will be your conductor this evening." He suddenly stopped and narrowed his eyes at Harry. "How old are you, anyway?"

"It doesn't matter," Harry said quickly, not caring how this bus had found him, just grateful that it had. "Did you say you could take me anywhere?"

"Anywhere on land," Stan replied, still seeming suspicious. "Can't go underwater."

"How much to go to London?" he asked.

"Eleven sickles," Stan said. "But –"

"I want to go to 98 Mitre Street in London, then," Harry interrupted, eager to be off the street and away from whatever creature had been staring at him in such an odd way.

"Well, get on, get on then," Stan said, reaching down to get his trunk as Harry climbed on board. "To 98 Mitre Street, London, Ernie," he called to the driver. He then turned back to Harry. "You, right here, this bed."

Harry sat down where Stan instructed and pulled eleven sickles out of his trunk, handing them over to the odd bus attendant. He just sat on the edge of the bed as the conductor began moving again and let thoughts race through his mind. Could an owl get to him while he was on the bus? He didn't think so. He wondered why he hadn't received one from the Ministry yet. When Dobby had used a Levitation Charm at the Dursleys the previous year, it had come almost immediately. Well, perhaps they were busy. It didn't mean he was going to get away with using magic outside of Hogwarts.

At least he had somewhere to go. He hoped Hermione and Danger wouldn't mind him showing up so unexpectedly, but he had realized quickly that he had no idea where the Weasleys lived. He didn't think "the Burrow" would be quite descriptive enough. It was better to go to Danger, anyway. Mrs. Weasley cared about him, but she wouldn't have any idea what to do for him if he couldn't use magic. In fact, _he_ didn't know what he was going to do now that he couldn't use magic, other than beg Dumbledore to allow him to become Hagrid's assistant, and truthfully he wasn't too keen on that idea. But Danger was a muggle, and she would know what to do. She would know how to get him back into a muggle school; she would think of an explanation for why he hadn't been going the past two years. And when he finished school he could work in the bookshop with her, and maybe Ron and Hermione would stop by and visit their old friend Harry, who was a wizard and couldn't perform any magic.

His thoughts broke when an image caught his eye. It was of a man in prison garb, his long, dark hair lying in strings around his face. The picture was very familiar because Harry had just seen it on television the night before, during a news announcement about an escaped convict that Uncle Vernon was watching, except that in this picture, the man was _moving_.

"Who is that?" Harry asked Stan from the opposite side of the newspaper. "I saw him on the muggle telly. Is he a wizard?"

"Who is that?" Stand repeated incredulously. "Is he a wizard? That's Sirius Black! A murderer! He was a big supporter of You-Know-Who. After … His downfall, he killed a wizard and a dozen muggles with one spell! Mad, he was. Laughed when they came to take him away to Azkaban."

"Azkaban? What's –"

Harry never got to finish his question because he was thrown off his bed and halfway back the bus as it came to a very, very sudden stop.

"Hold that thought," Stan said. "Looks like we're at your stop. Don't get too many passengers at night. Need some help with that trunk there?"

"No, I've got it," Harry replied, glancing at the window and feeling comfort in the familiar sight of the bookshop that Danger owned, even though the windows were dark and the door was bolted shut.

He dragged his trunk off the bus and after a farewell from Stan, it pulled away. Harry turned to the bookshop, and then looked at the floor above, where Hermione and Danger lived. It was mostly dark, but Harry could see a light coming from somewhere inside, and, hoping that meant one of the Grangers was still awake, Harry climbed the outside stairs that led to the side door into the apartment and rang the bell.

xXxXxXx

The doorbell rang, and Danger was startled out of the trance she'd fallen into while sipping tea. But, it was the middle of the night! The only reason she was even awake was because she'd had another of her dreams again and had been unable to fall back asleep. Who would be calling at this hour?

She trudged quietly through the living room to the side door without turning a light on. She wanted to catch a glimpse of whoever it was before she dared open the door, and if it was someone she didn't know, she would rather them think she wasn't going to answer at all. She was shocked when she looked through the peephole to find Harry Potter standing on her doorstep, looking tired, weary, and frightened. Stepping back from the door, she unlatched the chain, turned the deadbolt, and threw the door open.

"Harry? What are you doing here? It's the middle of the night!" she said in a loud, urgent whisper. "Well, get inside."

She pulled him in, and, she noticed, he pulled his trunk behind him. Once both boy and trunk were inside, she shut the door, re-secured it, and gave Harry a once over. The sight of the teenage boy before her washed away any traces of the tiny baby she'd just been picturing in her memory, and she pulled him into a tight hug. He clung back to her for a very long moment as though he would never let go, and then very suddenly dropped his arms. Danger could see his worried eyes shining through the dark.

"I woke up and couldn't go back to sleep. I've just made tea," she said, reaching up and brushing his messy hair out of his face. "Come on, let's get you a cup, and some biscuits. Hermione's still asleep –"

"No, I'm not," said a voice from the doorway. They turned to see Hermione rubbing the sleep from her eyes. "What's going on? Harry?"

"Come, into the kitchen both of you," Danger ordered gently.

She led the two teens into the kitchen and poured them each cups of tea, which they sipped while she rummaged in the cupboard for biscuits. She opened the package and placed one in Harry's hand, then turned to the boy.

"Now, Harry, tell us," she said, "what's going on?"

"Erm," Harry said. He looked up at them and Danger gave him a sympathetic smile. "It all started with … with my Aunt Marge …"

xXxXxXx

Sirius Black skulked back into the bushes, his footsteps much lighter when he was in dog form than they ever could have been when he was human. So that was his godson. He was sure of it. The boy had looked about the right age and, more importantly, was the spitting image of James. Except for his eyes, emerald eyes that had caught his attention immediately; Lily's eyes.

He was confused as to why the boy had been walking around with his trunk so far from Privet Drive, and a bit disappointed that he'd gotten the Knight Bus, but mostly just relieved. What would he have done if the boy had stayed? Revealed himself? He wasn't stupid. He had been in all the papers, wizarding and muggle alike. He couldn't risk taking his human form in front of another single living being. It was just too risky. Harry likely would have stunned him and gone for the Aurors or something, and it wasn't like he could defend himself without a wand. He didn't want to hurt the boy.

Yes, it was for the best that Harry had left. Sirius had seen that he was safe and well enough. He hadn't seemed to hesitate when he named his destination in London, so he must have had somewhere else to go. No, Sirius wasn't too worried. And even if he were, it wasn't as though he could jump on the bus after the boy. He would keep his eyes open, especially if that _rat_ was going to be in Gryffindor tower with Harry. That was all he could do.

But now, he needed to decide on his next move. He supposed that he could start heading back north, towards Hogwarts. It was exactly a month until term started, but this way Sirius would give himself plenty of time to rest, scrounge for rides on open lorries, and find good meals, and he would be there, waiting, when Peter arrived.

Yet, that idea didn't sound very appealing to him. He didn't want to live outside for the next month, just _waiting_ for Peter to be back at Hogwarts where he could get to him. _If_ he could get to him. If Peter was disguised as the sheltered, spoiled pet of a wizard boy, then Sirius would not only have to get past the wards of Hogwarts, but he would have to get into the castle and into Gryffindor tower, and then catch the little rodent without any students seeing him or catching onto him. Easier said than done, and certainly not easily said in the first place.

But where could he go that he would be safe from the authorities but still actually manage to make some kind of progress? Two people jumped to mind, rather than places.

Remus and Aletha.

But certainly they would both hate him. He would have heard if either them had contested his imprisonment without a trial, and neither of them had. It wasn't as though he blamed them. The evidence did appear to be rather stacked against his favor. Everyone thought he had been Lily and James's secret keeper. It did look like he'd killed Peter along with all of those muggles. And even if there had been some of kind loophole, which there wasn't, neither of them could risk going up against the Ministry; in those dark times. Aletha would have risked her job and Remus, being a werewolf, might have even risked being thrown in Azkaban as well.

Now it was twelve years later, though. Would more than a decade of time have been enough to plant a seed of doubt in either of their minds? Would they have brooded on it at all, thinking that this _wasn't_ the Sirius they had known? Would they have even _hoped_ that Sirius was somehow innocent?

He doubted this, and yet it was them he wanted to see most, now that he'd seen Harry. But going to Remus was much too risky. He was the only person alive, besides Peter, who knew about Sirius's Animagus form, and as Padfoot was his main form of disguise, things could turn out badly if Remus decided not to even listen to his explanation.

Aletha, on the other hand, had no idea of Sirius's canine alter ego. He could literally go up to her and lick her hand as Padfoot, and she would have no idea that this had been the man who loved her, the man who had been days away from proposing to her before all of their lives had fallen apart, just as the lives of the rest of the wizarding world had been coming back together. He didn't like the idea of deceiving her, but he didn't see what other choice he had.

Hell, he realized, he didn't even know if she still lived in her little house in London. But he would go there, and look for her. If she was there, and she was still working for the Ministry, perhaps he could inadvertently glean some useful information while he figured out how to convince her to believe him.

And if she wasn't there, well, he would figure out what to do then. Anything would be better than spending the next month scrounging off the streets and waiting for Peter to return to Hogwarts so that Sirius could commit the crime for which he'd been sent to Azkaban in the first place.

xXxXxXx

End chapter.

Thanks for reading! Let me know if you liked it. Is it worth continuing? Should I give it up?


End file.
